


At The Risk Of Falling (Off Roofs)

by ALC_Punk



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform, Slow Burn This Is Not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 10:56:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20173099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALC_Punk/pseuds/ALC_Punk
Summary: Molly Hooper and Sherlock Holmes are spies in different branches of the British Secret Service, and have a mutual loathing for each other. Or so they think. When a mission threatens to destroy them, they end up discovering that they're not as detestable to each other as they'd like to think.





	At The Risk Of Falling (Off Roofs)

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt: https://holidaysat221b.tumblr.com/post/186840062663/prompt-of-the-day-8719
> 
> It spoke to me. In four thousand words, and cranky annoyance, and a lot of "why is this my life" and "will you two just fuck already". 
> 
> Un-beta'd or Brit-picked.

Seriously. She was resigning after this, Molly Hooper decided as she crept along the roof. The steep angle downwards to her right made her extra cautious, but that didn't stop her from moving. Particularly, since she could see movement from the _other_ side of the roof. 

Bloody Holmes. He and his brother stuck their fingers into everything, even domestic situations that weren't their bailiwick! 

Trying not to growl, she checked that her gear was set and then sped her pace slightly. There was an inset skylight that let into the attic she'd been told should be easily used for infiltration. That Holmes was obviously heading for the same one made her want to beat him there. 

She managed it, but barely, her fingers brushing along the edges to find the wires she'd need to by-pass before she could open the embrasure safely. 

"Easier ways to do that."

Why his voice had to be so bloody attractive, she didn't know (why he had to be so attractive, was also a mystery she'd never solve. It made being angry and annoyed by him somewhat easier, at times. Harder at others). Gritting her teeth, she ignored him, bent to her work. 

"Hacking the house's alarm system, for instance."

The codes hadn't been something Five had found, so she was doing this a harder way. No point in explaining that, of course. 

He knelt, fingers brushing over hers. "Hold still a moment, I can get this."

"You--" Molly froze. If she yanked her hands from his, she'd catch the wires together, setting the alarm off. "Holmes. Get your hands away. Now."

Even in the dim lighting from the stars, she could see one side of his mouth curl up. It made her want to punch him. Oh, dear god, she was quitting after this. "So sorry, Hooper," he drawled, slowly pulling his hands from hers. 

She didn't miss the way he dragged the tips along her skin, and tried to ignore how she wanted to shudder just a little. If she pinned him to the roof and snogged the life out of him, then shagged them both off to fall to the ground, would anyone blame her? No.

Why he had to be attractive on top of annoying, she didn't know. Perhaps it was a test from the universe. Ways to drive Molly Hooper insane 101: invoke Sherlock Holmes. 

Finishing her work, she checked it, then stood again and bent. It was a moment to swing finagle the latch and swing the window open. A swift check with her light showed a musty, jumbled chaos of an attic below, and she dropped her rope ladder and anchored it. 

"I'll go first."

"No you won't, Holmes." Standing straight, she stepped into him. "This is my recce, and if you screw this up for Five, I won't be held accountable."

"Six has jurisdiction, Hooper."

"Bullshit."

He casually pulled out his phone and tapped a few keys, then turned it so she could read the texts. 

It was one of the code sign-offs from her boss, acknowledging the matter being turned over to the Holmes boys. 

A curse escaped her. "You couldn't have bloody told me that before you barged into my way?" She could have gone back off the roof and headed for one of her safe houses for a night of take-away, pink fluffy slippers, and mindless television. 

"You might be useful as a distraction."

Shooting him would be too good, she decided. "Get down the ladder, Holmes, before I shove you off this roof."

"You were seconded to my team, by the way," he murmured. Then, before she could object, he was grasping the ladder and swinging down into the room below.

Radio silence had been the orders she was operating under, but Molly seriously considered compromising operational security just to argue with Harry. Giving herself a moment to close her eyes and re-center with the stars above and the night air nipping at her cheeks, she waited for Holmes to whistle an all-clear. 

It was just like him to shove into her operation. With his bloody coat, and his stupid hair, and his everything--Molly occasionally admitted to herself that she thought he was incredibly attractive. 

And then she usually tried to wipe the very idea from her own mind and memories. It wouldn't do to fall in love with a spy. 

She'd tried that once, and it hadn't ended particularly well. 

When the quiet whistle finally came, she snorted and did as she was told. For now. 

-=-

If asked, Sherlock Holmes would have gone to his grave after being tortured to death than ever admit that he held any sort of regard for Molly Hooper. Or whatever her cover was at any given time. She was always Molly Hooper, to him. 

That his regard might have been more than friendship, and was certainly not the angry, jurisdiction mine-field that their working relationship suggested, he would also go to his grave before admitting (unless, possibly, she asked. But he worked very hard to keep her from ever considering asking). 

There was nothing about Molly Hooper that should have driven admiration in his clinical, logical world. But he had seen her at her best, and her worst, and in pink socks and wet shirts and skirts that left nothing to the imagination. 

And while much of that implied some sort of biologically animal attraction, it wasn't simply that. 

Sherlock Holmes was not a man driven by his hormones, after all. 

Putting her skills to good use, they made their way through the house with an efficiency even his brother would have appreciated. Not that he would have admitted it. 

In the study, they found what they'd been sent for. A flash drive containing encrypted files that should never have gone missing. 

Looking through some of the papers on the desk, Hooper frowned. "There's print-outs. The data was accessed at least once. Can your tech people pull access data from it?"

Obvious, but he didn't feel inclined to point it out. 

"Did anyone get a lead on his ex?" 

"Ex?" Sherlock frowned. 

"The redhead," she replied, absently rifling through the drawers, leaving them in almost the same condition. He could have managed better, but he knew her training was about simplicity and efficiency rather than leaving no traces at all. 

"Moran? No. Not a one." Mycroft had been very put out about that. Even Anthea'd been stumped, and all of her contacts were highly illegal hackers.

"Pity."

Before he replied, he froze. There'd been a sound. "Don't move."

"Wha--" 

He grabbed her shoulder, holding her still, before she could turn to give him the rough side of her tongue as she'd obviously been longing to do since he'd shown up on her roof. "I heard a click."

Clicks could be caused in so many ways. But in the study of one James Moriarty, Sherlock doubted they would be benign reasons. 

"OK."

"Just. Stay still and try not to touch anything else."

There was the chance it was innocuous, that Hooper hadn't triggered something. There was the chance it was someone creeping by in the hallway, but the sound hadn't come from beyond the door. 

Shifting around her, he knelt and carefully brushed his fingers over the carpet. 

He found the slight rise she had one foot on almost immediately. Pulling out a pen knife and his torch, he carefully cut into the carpeting, pulling it up and away from the raised area so he could see underneath to understand what they were dealing with. 

"Pressure mine."

A sound escaped Hooper, but she remained motionless. 

Sherlock flattened himself onto his front, and began searching out the various bits of the mine. It was a fairly compact one, but seemed standard military issue. Possibly even a model he'd seen himself during training. 

It took nearly four minutes to find the detonator switch and work out how to interrupt the trigger. He'd started sweating after two. Annoying to discover that his heart could race and his hands could get clammy when there was someone at stake. 

That it was Hooper was simply icing on the cake of danger and excitement. Not that he wanted her dead. As unlikely as she probably thought that would be, he almost liked her. 

She kept him from feeling stale, even as she annoyed him.

Hooper had handed down her wires kit for his use, as he hadn't bothered with one. 

After all, he'd known Hooper's methods and how she'd enter the building. It had simply been a matter of following and taking advantage. 

Shifting a little, he tapped her ankle gently. "We won't have much time."

"I know." Her voice was frustrated and frightened at the same time. "Just get on with it, Holmes."

"Well, if you'd like to die quickly, I could just shove you off of it."

She was gritting her teeth when she replied, and he felt a little smug at how easy provoking her was. "Just tell me when I can move."

Letting her be annoyed with him, he continued working, carefully working the wires into place and setting the tap against one of the bits of carpet, so he could slam his foot onto it before they ran.

"We're going through the window," he said. "Five seconds, possibly ten--are you ready?"

"Yes."

"Excellent." Jumping to his feet, he went for the office desk chair and swung it, shattering the window. The sound was loud in the silence of the building, and he tossed it to the side as he turned back to her. 

She was staring at him wide-eyed as he grabbed her hand. "Think of England, Hooper. And GO."

They moved almost as one, his foot tagging the interrupt pulse as he jerked forwards, pulling her with him. She was up and off the mine, and they had two seconds to reach the window. 

Sherlock dove through it first, feeling her yelp as she was pulled through with the weight of his body. 

The night exploded behind them, the force propelling them both further and into the bushes set in the midst of the lawn. The sort of bushes that were ornamental and not conducive to hiding in, or using to creep up to a building. Probably why they'd both chosen the roof, his hacking alarm methods aside. 

With his ears ringing and his body flaring in pain, he rolled and got them both back on their feet. 

Limping and staggering, they fled the scene into a nearby alleyway. 

-=-

Debriefing with your ears ringing, ankle wrenched, body and ego both bruised, was never Molly's idea of a good time. That she was saddled with Sherlock bloody Holmes, and he was actually slightly worse off (more than one edge of the window had caught at him, the gashes had bled rather profusely), didn't help matters. 

When Harry and Mycroft eventually released them to head for medical and home, Molly tried to ignore Holmes even as she allowed him to lend her an arm as she limped down the hallway. 

"That could have gone better."

"Yes. We could have both been watching for traps."

Molly scowled. She wasn't going to re-hash the dressing-down they'd both received. At least she'd kept hold of the drive, and they knew that the data was most likely compromised. 

"Still. You were adequate assistance."

"Adequate? Adequate?" Seeing red, Molly took a detour into the nearest empty office, shoving Holmes in before her. 

He staggered and half-sat on the desk. 

"I'll show you 'adequate'." She snarled, before she reached up, grabbed his head and yanked his mouth down to hers. 

That she was kissing Sherlock Holmes, whom she _loathed_ and _hated_ didn't even occur to her until she realized he was kissing her back. Rather desperately, with his hands on her waist yanking her closer.

Molly had half a moment to think of the intelligence of kissing _Sherlock Holmes_ and then he did a thing with his lips and tongue and all thought just fled. _Fuck_. Why was he a good kisser on top of everything else? 

Together they staggered and Sherlock dropped into one of the chairs, Molly followed him down, landing awkwardly, but not caring for the moment. 

It was everything she'd ever wanted from a kiss. Wild, insane, passionate--and a little painful. She was bruised everywhere, and her ankle was throbbing. Between them, she could taste dirt, leaves, and the cordite from the explosion. 

She broke away from his mouth and leaned her forehead against his shoulder, gasping for breath. 

"Hooper--"

"Don't." Her hand came up, fingers pressing against his lips. "Just. Don't. I don't need to hear all of the reasons why this is a horrible, awful, career-ending idea."

"I was." He paused and reached up to press her fingers against his lips, kissing them. "I was going to suggest we get seen to, and have a conversation."

"About?"

He shifted a little, his tone a tiny bit uncertain. "Where this... what this...means."

Raising her head, she met his gaze. "I don't particularly like you, Sherlock Holmes. But I would like you to take me to bed and shag me until I can't think about the reasons why I don't."

His lips quirked. "I think I can do that, Molly Hooper. Once we're cleared by medical."

And if he was a little gentle in assisting her back to her feet, she didn't mention it. 

-=-

Molly also didn't mention his stitches, or the way his mouth seemed to pay homage to every inch of her skin before he sucked her clit hard in just the way she liked it and made her see stars. 

Coming down from her orgasm, she dragged his mouth to hers, glorying in their combined tastes before she shoved him onto his back. "You're injured," she informed him before she licked a stripe up his cock. "You should take it easy."

"Hooper--"

"Doctor's orders," she smirked at him before swirling her tongue around the head of his dick, sucking at it in random order. "Means you relax, and let me do all of the work."

She wasn't the biggest fan of sucking cock, but she'd gotten decent at it over the years. It helped that Sherlock Holmes seemed a little confused that she had his cock in her mouth and wasn't damaging it. At one point, she let her teeth out, just a little, and she felt him _twitch_. 

Hrm. Someone apparently liked a little pain. Then she slowed down, letting her tongue trace random letters over the tip. 

Eventually, her jaw got tired enough that she pulled free of him and settled on her knees next to him. "I could wank you the rest of the way?" 

The offer made him glare. She was proud of that, it hadn't been often that _she'd_ made _him_ glare, after all. "Molly Hooper. If you don't fuck me soon, I will tell Harry about that little job in the East End I helped you with."

As that job had benefited both of them, she didn't think much of the threat, but it was a bit adorable that he'd tried it. "Hrm. Condom?"

"Bedside table drawer."

How they'd ended up at one of _his_ safe houses, she wasn't exactly sure. She didn't really mind, though. Most safe houses were alike, and at least this way, she hadn't exposed her terrible slipper collection to his mockery. 

She found what she was looking for in the drawer and quickly handed it over to Sherlock. 

"It's probably easier if you do this," she murmured. Sitting back, she watched him pull the condom from the package and roll it down his cock. There was something rather attractive about watching Sherlock Holmes stroke himself. 

Certainly a thought for another time. 

"You like to watch."

Leaning down, she kissed him. "Yes. How do you want me?"

"I like to watch, too. Ride me, Molly." He wriggled and settled himself in a slightly more relaxed position, and reached out to cup one of her breasts. "I neglected these, earlier."

Flushing a little at the open admiration in his gaze as he looked at her chest, Molly moved to straddle him. She fumbled a little when he pinched a nipple, then got him situated. Bracing herself, she wriggled and then slid down onto him, taking him in more fully than she'd expected. 

Huffing out a breath, she smirked at him. "You feel good, Holmes. If you'd mentioned how big your cock was, I might have fucked you a long time ago."

Snorting, he grabbed her hip, "Don't tease, Hooper. We both know it took a near-death experience for you to admit your attraction."

Molly began slowly rolling her hips, adjusting to the feel of him before she pulled up and dropped back down. "Didn't say I was attracted."

"Body says otherwise."

"Likewise."

A laugh escaped him, and then she began to move in earnest. Teasing them both was beyond her. She could feel how good he felt inside of her, needed that feeling to last, to drive her into another climax. 

It would be a good one, an amazing one. There was no way Sherlock Holmes was awful when he was using his dick. Or maybe he used it for thinking?

His hands came up to play with her breasts, teasing and pinching her nipples. 

A cry escaped her when he pinched one extra-hard, and her inner muscles tightened involuntarily. He did it again, and she sped her movements, grinding her clit against him on every down-stroke. 

"Molly--" His hands shifted, his body lurched a little, and he pulled her down flat against him, changing the angle. "Hurry up, woman, I'll leave you behind."

His hands were everywhere, then, on her breasts, stroking down her back, slaping her ass, slipping one between them, he caught her clit with his finger and thumb, sliding and pinching it until all she could feel was Sherlock. 

Desperate, she kissed him harshly, sucking his tongue into her mouth as she climaxed. 

Beneath her, he shivered, following her only a few moments later. 

Molly collapsed, spent and feeling broken and lost. Sweat clung to her, and she could taste the salt from Sherlock's skin at the back of her throat. 

"Was that enough shagging for you?"

Not bothering to move, she shook her head. "No. I'll let you know when it is."

He stroked his hand down her back, tightening his hold on her. "I don't look forward to that day."

Letting out another breath, Molly felt sleep dragging at the edges of her perception. It had been a long bloody night. She was allowed a little weakness. "Neither do I."

She knew he'd heard her admission, but he didn't respond. 

Perhaps sleep was taking him as well. 

Molly closed her eyes, for a moment rather determined not to think of anything else. 

But then she breathed in, and could feel the sweat sticking to her, and smell their fluids in the air along with dirt and blood, and other things she tended to dislike when trying to sleep. 

"Shower?" Sherlock's voice didn't surprise her. He had to be trying to figure out what to do with the condom, as his cock had slowly slid out of her. 

Abruptly feeling all of the semen and vaginal fluids dripping everywhere, she made a face. "It's the least you could offer."

"I quite like you wet and slippery," he returned. 

They both dragged themselves from the bed, leaning against each other a little as he led the way into his somewhat nice bathroom. 

It was a large enough shower that Molly assumed they'd share it. She bundled her hair up and secured it with a pen lurking on the counter before she stepped under the warm spray. It took him a little longer to join her, as he'd needed to wrap something around his arm to keep the bandages from getting damp. 

If she'd thought about it, she would have stayed out to assist. 

The shower was a little awkward at first, but it wasn't difficult to maneuver around each other, sharing soap and the flannel. Trading off who needed to rinse and where. 

Very little of the time was spent on conversation, which she appreciated. 

She'd been almost asleep before being filthy had dragged her from his bed. And even if there was something quite attractive about a naked Sherlock Holmes, she had no energy to do anything about it. 

Even if he kept glancing at her breasts with something like appreciation. 

Finally, they were clean enough, and Molly stepped out to scrounge a towel. She didn't bother with night clothing, doubting he'd mind if she slept naked. If the service wanted to pull her back into the field, it would have to deal with her tired and starkers. 

The bed sheets weren't something she wanted to consider, however. She eyed them as she stood in the doorway. 

Sherlock brushed past her, a pile of fabric in his hands. "If you can get the pillows and duvet out of the way--"

A little startled by this evidence of his being domesticated, Molly nevertheless did as requested, even untucking the upper edges of the sheet for him. 

The bed was swiftly changed, the pillows and blankets back. 

While Holmes took the pile out into the hallway to some destination she didn't care about, Molly crawled into the bed and tucked herself in on her side, facing the other side of the bed. 

She was barely awake when he returned, and mumbled something welcoming when his mouth kissed her shoulder as he settled next to her.

-=-

There was something poking him in the back. He was too warm, and there was a hand holding his. Or he was holding the hand, he decided a moment later. He and Hooper had shifted during the night, until she was cuddled up against his back, one arm draped her him. He'd captured her fingers in his hand, tugging them up to his chest. 

Sentimental rubbish. His subconscious had much to answer for. 

The thing, which he now realized was a finger, poked him again. "Holmes."

"Mmm."

"There's someone in the flat."

Now she'd called his attention to it, the sort of background noise filtered in instead of being ignored. A slight clink of china, the swirl of a liquid, and the faint scent of tea wafting on the breeze. Mrs. Hudson had delivered his breakfast, obviously. 

She wouldn't care if he ate it cold or not, and he didn't feel up to moving. "Probably my landlady bringing morning tea."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Now close your eyes and start snoring again."

An indignant noise came from behind him. "I do not snore."

If she'd been facing him, he wouldn't have allowed the little grin to cross his lips. She was terribly easy to rile, it was probably why he loved her. "Just don't worry about it. Everyone snores."

Her finger poked him again. "You should go check that's who it is."

Ah. Revenge for the snoring comment would be shoving him out of bed, apparently. 

He gave an agonized groan. "Not sure I can move after being blown up."

And shagged rotten. He'd appreciated only the latter.

"You can't hurt any worse than I do."

Untrue, there was less surface for her to bruise and batter. Still, Sherlock decided that she wasn't going to let up until he was on his feet. 

He managed to get up-right and find a dressing gown to pull on. 

The maroon one, he noted as he belted it and aimed for the door. Behind him, he could hear further stirring in the bed, so perhaps he wouldn't be the only one drinking tea this morning. 

Out in the hall, he could hear the bustle of Mrs. Hudson as she tidied up. Though what she was cleaning, he didn't know. 

"Oho! Sherlock. Your tea's getting cold," she called, letting him know she'd heard him moving about. 

He grunted. 

She appeared in the doorway, looking him up and down. "What you think you're doing, out at all hours and coming home in such a state." She tsked and bustled him out into the sitting room and onto his own couch. 

Footsteps behind them drew her attention over his shoulder, and she blinked. "Well. Hello, dear. And don't you look done in as well. Will you be needing another cup, Sherlock?"

"She's staying." 

He glanced over and found that Molly hadn't bothered with more than one of his shirts. It was a very attractive look, and he was quite glad he was sitting. 

"Then I'll go down and fetch a cup. Wouldn't want to use one of his, dear," Mrs. Hudson told Molly. "No idea what he does with them. Experiments at all hours, and means. I tell you, it's a wonder I let him stay as a tenant."

"Mycroft pays you well for it."

"Hrmph. You're grumpy this morning," returned his not-a-housekeeper as she strode for the door. 

"It's all right, ma'am. I can just use his," Molly suited actions to words, stealing the cup from Sherlock's fingers as she carefully sat next to him on the couch. 

Eyeing her for a moment, Martha Hudson gave a slight nod of approval. "You'll do. Shout if you need anything, like assistance in hiding his body."

Molly burst into a large smile and twinkled back to his landlady. "I'll keep that in mind, thanks."

When she was gone, Sherlock wriggled around and sprawled his upper body across her lap. His head was pillowed against one of her thighs. A little bony, but oddly comfortable. "You're both horrible people."

"Mm. I think she's rather sweet, actually." Her fingers stroked through his hair gently, the cup held in one hand. Eyes distant as she gazed across the room. 

Sherlock wanted to reach up and stroke his fingers over her face as though he could read all of the thoughts in her head. He could think of some of the things going through that muddled place, but he didn't want to name them. No need to unsettle either of them while they were still comfortable. 

Mornings after were always meant to be awkward affairs, with walks of shame and people ducking out before breakfast. 

Molly Hooper seemed disinclined to leave, and she hadn't dressed, either. 

Hard to feel awkward instead of aroused when he could smell the sleepy sweetness of her skin. If he turned his head, he could burrow under her shirt and find out if she tasted as good in the morning as she did at night. 

"When are you due back in?" Her fingers paused in their movements as she looked down to catch his eyes with hers. 

"Mycroft suggested two days for recuperation."

"Harry gave me three."

He actually felt the smile before it began, and succeeded in smothering it a little. "Then I suppose you've nowhere to go but back to my bed."

She seemed remarkably uninterested in the idea. "Does your landlady know who you are?"

A shrug. She knew enough, but that wasn't a secret he intended to share. Other peoples' secrets were only fair game when the country's vitality was at stake, after all. "I've never asked. Neither has she."

"She knows enough to want to hide your corpse." Her smile was lovely and arch. "I quite like her."

He grunted and wriggled a bit. "I'm bored. Entertain me."

"You're a grown adult, entertain yourself."

Before he could reply, she set the finished mug of tea down and nudged him up and off of her lap. "I'm heading back to sleep. You're welcome to join me, if my snoring won't keep you awake."

She was nearly back in his bedroom before he lurched up and off the couch. It wasn't much of a chase, but tackling her onto the bed was entirely worth all of the skin he could now peruse. 

Even if he was just as willing to go back to sleep as she'd suggested. 

They could have that whole What Does This Mean conversation another time. And James Moriarty could try killing them again. 

Either prospect thrilled him. Just a bit.


End file.
